


honour the charge

by kryze



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, M/M, The Drift (Pacific Rim), drift compatible royed, on hiatus til may, oopsey daisy, suddenly realising your copilot performed human trans... i mean the ultimate sin, the homunculi as kaiju
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-16 18:36:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8112994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kryze/pseuds/kryze
Summary: Has Ed really been pulled out of retirement for this?
  
    Alternatively: Ex-Ranger Edward Elric meets up-and-coming Roy Mustang, they get into a Jaeger and then they save the world.





	1. that damned equation

**Author's Note:**

> so i guess i kinda wanted to try out a fma x pacific rim thing??
> 
> title from lord tennyson's _the charge of the light brigade ___

 

There are few people who know where the Elric brothers _really_ ended up after their disastrous mission in Drachma.

 

Teacher and Sig, for two, are well-aware of Ed and Al's alive-ness because they would’ve found out whether their two former students liked it or not. It's just a matter of making the only logical choice, taking the path of least resistance… and avoiding getting beaten up _too_ badly. Even with legendary careers as Rangers and hand-to-hand combatants behind them, Teacher never fails to wipe the floor with both of their sorry asses.

 

The only other two are Winry and Granny. They’re the ones who give Ed automail after the car crash, and house Al until he wakes up from his coma. It wouldn't be an equivalent exchange to pretend like they’re dead to the people who do everything they can for them. And as harsh as Ed knows he can be sometimes, he has unshakeable moral principles.

 

Plus, Win has a voodoo connection with his arm and leg; if he ever gets it tinkered with by someone other than her, wrenches will be flying before he can say ‘alchemy’ and God be damned if she thinks Ed is dead or alive. So yeah. She knows.

 

And maybe a little bit because Al’s more than a little bit in love with her, and when push comes to shove, in what way is Edward capable of saying ‘no’ to his little brother?

 

The answer is: in no way. In absolutely no way is Ed able to refuse Al _anything_. 

 

He would jump into a volcano for his brother, dive straight into the maw of a Kaiju for his brother, drink _milk_ for his brother. The last one’s a bit of a stretch, but as he said before: when push comes to shove? Ed likes to think he’d be able to brave the disgusting-ness of milk just to see Alphonse live another day.

 

Somehow, he thinks he still prefers the volcano.

 

…

 

“Edward!” Winry shrieks from across the house. Ed winces at the volume, his eardrums ringing in sympathy for his plight.

 

He takes a deep breath. “ _What_ , Win?”

 

“Just get over here, you dumb shit!”

 

Ed heaves a sigh and is perhaps more melodramatic that truly necessary in planting his palms flat on his desk to lever himself into a standing position. Al just looks at him amusedly from his bed. “Better hop to it, Brother,” the little imp teases, a gentle smirk curling out from the corners of his book. Ed reaches over to ruffle his little brother’s hair, sending up a silent thank-you to whoever’s listening that Alphonse is _alive_. He always gets a little sentimental on the day of that one failure off the Drachman coast and Winry _knows_ , so she’s been not-so-subtly keeping him busy.

 

She never says anything and he chooses not to call her out on it, instead shooting her grateful looks whenever she gives him some new, absorbing task. What they don’t say out loud never has to be acknowledged.

 

“Alright, alright, don’t get your gears in a twist.” Ed hurries out from his and Al’s study-cum-bedroom.

 

Win huffs at him, waving a spanner in the air for emphasis. A metal organ sits on her workbench in front of her. Ed raises an eyebrow, finding almost no faults with the design.

 

“So what exactly do you want me to do with it?” he asks, having a feeling he already knows the answer.

 

“Make an alloy that’s lighter, duh,” Winry says. “I still need to add in a ton of stuff,” she gestures to a section of displaced metal, “and I’m already approaching out limit on a safe weight.”

 

Ed cocks his head at the automail liver. Right now, it’s an alloy of titanium and aluminium with trace amounts of oxygen. He can probably make it a little lighter, but maybe not enough to fit all Winry’s crap in it too. He says as much to her, but she waves it off.

 

“If it exceeds out calculated weight limits, you can just make the internals out of lighter metals. It’ll take a while, but I bet it’ll pay off if we can get it right…”

 

Ed nods in agreement. No matter how much work he _knows_ these things take, he will always take the time in life to save others’. Plus, after nearly cheating death with Al twice now, it’s almost like karma could be out to get him if he doesn’t get his shit together and help build stuff that’ll save people’s lives. It’s the least he can do.

 

“Think you can make it react a bit better under heated conditions? I don’t want it expanding too much at an average body temperature.” Winry muses. “It’ll definitely make it a lot easier for me and Granny.”

 

He gives her a toothy grin. She rolls her eyes with the ease of someone who's had to do it a million times before.

 

“Challenge accepted, Win.”

 

…

 

Ed slaves over the liver for three days.

 

He takes his meals in the study, takes shits in a transmuted toilet in the study, falls asleep sprawled out on his desk in the study.

 

Honestly, Al wants to take his stupid older brother by the scruff of his neck and _shake_ until all the self-loathing nonsense gets forcibly removed from his dumb head. Unfortunately, he is confined to his bed, and even more unfortunately, is unnaturally receptive to his very volatile, older brother’s emotions.

 

But Al knows better than anyone that Ed _needs_ this time. It doesn’t stop him from getting frustrated though, year after year. 

 

Maybe next year, things will be better. Maybe next year, Brother will finally be able to look at Al with a real smile on this day.

 

…

 

Ed only emerges from his self-imposed bubble of loneliness and guilt after he’s come up with a feasible solution for the metal. He’s surprised Winry let him keep her precious creation for more than three hours at a time, much less three _days_. She’s been _nice_ to him over the past three days, her and Granny both. They don’t nag him about eating dinner with the family, about taking his turn getting his hair out of the shower drain- he and Win alternate since they’re the only ones who get it stuck- or even transmuting a toilet in his room. Granny hates it when they make unnecessary alterations to the house with alchemy.

 

She doesn’t say a word this time.

 

Win has a gentle smile for him when he takes his first steps out of his and Al’s room since the anniversary. “Hey Ed.”

 

He tries to give her one back, but he feels like it ends up more like a grimace. Still, her eyes gentle, turning piercing light blue into calm pools of dihydrogen monoxide. “How’s the liver?”

 

“Pretty good, it only expands a fifth of a millimetre at extreme temperatures, so looks like you’re alright for the human body.”

 

“Awesome!” she exclaims, happily reclaiming her newly transmuted automail liver and turning it over, probably looking for any dents to smooth out from Ed’s automail arm, or any places where he might’ve transmuted the metal too thinly. He rolls his eyes at her meticulous check-over. It’s not like he actively tried to crush it or anything.

 

Winry nods her head in satisfaction. “It _feels_ lighter,” she says, “I’ll add the rest in and see how it weighs up.”

 

Ed turns to the kitchen in search of some food. “Hey, if you wanted to go through with changing the metals of the gears too, I had some ideas for the transmutation.”

 

Win throws him an grateful look, but he can see a mischievous spark light in her eyes. “Thanks midget.” she says smugly, immediately fleeing the room.

 

“ _Automail freak!_ ” he screams to her retreating back, choosing to let it go for now. Not even a jab at his height can stop his quest for food. After all, three days is a long time to subside on only three full meals.

 

* * *

 

Now, they spend their days watching the news to keep up with current affairs and Ed can't help but be thankful that they're no longer in the thick of it anymore, prepared for a drop at every moment. It's nice to live life a little slower now. Ed knows it's selfish but he prefers his little brother _safe_. Now, Al only worriedly discusses the increasing Kaiju attacks and is even cut-off enough from the action to offhandedly wonder out loud if there’s any sort of pattern to them. Then, Winry’s eyes light up and Ed _knows_ that whatever’s she’s thinking probably isn’t good.

 

“Hey!” She chirps. Ed groans. She ignores him. Al snickers. “Do you think you two could come up with some equation that would predict Kaiju attacks?”

 

They gape at her. Al is the first to recover. “Wait, wait, what? Winry, do you really think we could _do_ that?”

 

“Well yeah,” she says, shrugging, “if anyone can, it’s you two.” Al beams with pride and leans over to give her a kiss on the forehead. Ed snaps out of it and manages another groan at their sappiness, pantomiming a bullet to the head.

 

Al rolls his eyes. “Don’t be so melodramatic, Brother. Now, get me to the study so we can start work!”

 

“Whatever you want, Al.” Ed says, grinning. He stoops down to pick his brother up from the sofa and carries him bridal style back to their room.

 

“Don’t forget to come down and eat dinner!” Winry yells at their backs. Al shoots her a beam and a wave over his brother's shoulder.

 

…

 

The work isn’t so overwhelming that they _completely_ forget to take care of themselves, but Al would be lying if he said it doesn’t occasionally slip their minds.

 

Winry, for the first few days, is a saint. She’s lived with them for long enough that she knows the starting days of pure research are vital. But after that, it’s like Ed and Al have signalled they’re fair game. Ed gets beaned with a wrench at least five times in two days and Al is force-fed pie more than once. Granny says it's important for him to keep his sugar intake high so he can 'goddamn semi-safely stay up all night doing his shit'. It hasn’t gotten to the point where Win has to purposefully bust a component of Ed’s arm in order for him to even come downstairs, or like on that one memorable occasion, has dissolved incredibly strong sleeping pills into their tea.

 

Well, Al thinks, they actually deserved that one; because if they can’t identify an outlying ingredient of their beverages on sight, then they really shouldn’t be doing advanced theoretical alchemy. Or _any_ alchemy.

 

Or any _thing_ , for that matter.

 

They work in silence for most of the day, only speaking to one another when there’s an important observation to be made. There’s piles upon piles upon _piles_ of data from Kaiju attacks, even with their extraordinary reading speeds, it’s still a huge task to analyse all of it. And in order to properly create and test their equation, they really do have to go through _all_ of it.

 

“Hey, I think you’re gonna have to cube this part instead, Al. I’ve been plotting some later points and the curve’s looking shallower than we expected, but we have to make up for the one of the constants here.” Al sighs. It’s going to be a very long day.

 

…

 

It takes them one and a half months to sort through the data, wrench the information they need from it’s greedy, disorganised hands, muddle through it to create a beauty- or rather _horror_ \- of an equation, test it, check it, double check it, _triple_ check it, call Winry in to check it… and then anonymously send it off to Eastern Command.

 

Ed gleefully estimates it’ll take at least two weeks until the Pan Pacific Defense Corps can decipher it, and then another three before they can understand it to see the projection that he and his brother have made.

 

Al tells him to have more faith in the rest of humanity. Ed rebuts him by saying that if _Winry_ needed them to talk her through it- and only because she doesn’t specialise in pure mathematics, the engineering genius she is- then he pities the poor dimwits that have to stand up to the test of Elric Brother Brilliance™.

 

Al… can’t exactly argue with that.

 

…

 

Ed is right. In Al’s _face_.

 

It’s _seven_ weeks before the military bastards come out with an open letter to ‘whomever it may concern’ in the exact code that Ed and Al used on the notes they sent off. The Corps must be pretty grateful, because one- they actually released a coded open letter to the public thanking one of them for their equation, and two- _they actually released a coded open letter to the public_. It’s kind of unprecedented for an organisation who keeps all their cards close to their chest, except for when they can’t.

 

And apparently with Ed and Al’s equation, they just _can’t_.

 

The brothers decide to mail a reply to Eastern, and in a different code this time. Let’s see how they deal with it.

 

In a week and a half, Eastern lights up red. Just like they told them to in the letter.

 

The public is, for lack of better words, _confused_. The Defense Corps are playing a completely unexplained game with them and they don’t know how to react. Conspiracy theories are coming out left and right, offering abstract analyses of The Letter, as it’s now called, and trying to link it to the colour red that lit up the Command Centre for three hours on a Tuesday.

 

Winry laughs her ass off when she reads some of them out at dinner. Al shoots milk through his nose, Ed chokes on a piece of bread and Granny coughs on her pipe- which hasn’t happened in _decades_ , if she is to be believed.

 

It’s pretty much all fun and games, or as fun as it can be when their days on Earth are numbered, until _he_ shows up.

 

Ed can see his little brother trying not to vomit. He, on the other hand, can see only red.

 

How _dare_ they disturb their peace and quiet? Haven’t they given _enough_ to this stupid country?

 

…

 

“Hello, Rangers.” Marshal Grumman says pleasantly. Beneath his voice is a hint of steel. Winry leads him into the living room with a terrified expression on her face. Ed tries to communicate with her that everything will be alright. She doesn’t seem to be getting the message. He can’t blame her; if he was in her position, he’d have both his eyes on Al too. But Ed can’t afford that. He has someone else to deal with.

 

“What do you want?” he growls, stepping protectively in front of his little brother, who’s lying prone on the couch.

 

“Just to talk,” Grumman says mildly. He invites himself to sit down in an armchair. Ed tries not to snarl as best he can. It wouldn’t do well to attack a military official, not when he doesn’t know how many more of them there are, and not when he doesn’t know the lengths they’re willing to go to for their cooperation. For all he knows, they could be willing to take Alphonse as blackmail. Well, Ed wouldn't even let that happen over his dead body.

 

“Then talk.” he says instead, crossing his arms over each other to appear more menacing. It seems to work on the two other soldiers in the room, who gulp audibly. Ed doesn’t entirely suppress his smirk.

 

“It took us a very long time to track you down, you know.” the Marshal comments. “After Drachma, you two just _disappeared_.”

 

“Can you blame us?” Ed says acerbically. He pulls up his shirt a fraction to expose the electrical scarring. Only Grumman’s eyes betray his surprise. “I had to pilot Fullmetal by myself. Al lost his whole lower body. _Excuse us_ if we wanted to recover out of the public eye… and never re-enter it again.”

 

Grumman’s posture slouches ever-so-slightly. “I didn’t want to ask you boys for anything. God knows you deserve your rest-”

 

“Then just get to the point.” Ed interrupts. He doesn't even care if he's being rude at this point, it's all to protect Al. “We don’t need to waste time on the likes of you.”

 

“I was hoping that the both of you would be available to fight again, but with Alphonse, I see that is not the case I should make.” Ed nods minutely. If Grumman were to demand Al, he and whatever lackeys he’s brought would be kicked halfway across the country before they could say ‘Jaeger’.

 

“I am requesting you, Edward, to be a Ranger again.”

 

“Fuck no.” is the immediate response.

 

“I expected no less,” Grumman sighs tiredly, standing up and brushing invisible lint off his trouser legs. “But think about it, Edward. Would you rather die here… or in a Jaeger?” He leaves the room, brushing past a completely still Winry, his guards following stiffly after.

 

Ed lets go of his tense stance to go to Al. Winry too, has unfrozen from the living room’s archway to hurry over to the younger Elric’s side. “You okay, Al?” Ed asks softly, his hands framing his brother’s face in a feather-light caress.

 

Al nods jerkily. “Yeah, yeah. I’m alright.” He shoots a reassuring glance at Winry to calm her down, but quickly turns back to Ed.

 

“You should go.” Win says quietly, beating Al to the punch.

 

Ed spins so fast he almost has whiplash. “ _What_?” he hisses. “Are you _out of your mind_? In what world could I _ever_ leave you and Al here to fend for yourselves?”

 

“In this one.” Al chips in gently, taking one of Ed’s hands in his two of his. Ed looks down at his little brother’s skinny fingers laced with his own. They’re unsurprisingly perfect, just like the rest of Al, but every single bit of his brother, he treats like a revelation. In a way, he is. Win and Granny kept telling him in the beginning, that Al shouldn’t have been living, that it was a miracle that he managed to hold out so long for Ed, and that Ed managed to get him to safety so quickly. Not that it was even humanly possible that Ed could do _anything_ else. If Al had died that day in their Jaeger, he would’ve taken Ed with him.

 

“But I can’t _leave_ you.” Ed whispers, stroking his thumb over the back of one of Al’s faultless hands.

 

“You have to.” Al tells him sadly. “It’s what we stand for, remember? We have to defend those who can’t defend themselves.”

 

“Alchemists, be thou for the people.” Ed says defeatedly.

 

“Exactly.” Al tells him, steel-strength lacing his tone and Ed can’t say no to _that_. He can’t turn his back on their only creed; it would be against every cell in his body he has left to spare. All else is devoted to Alphonse and at the end of the day, whatever Alphonse says, Edward will do.

 

“Go.” Winry reiterates, pulling his head down to give him a kiss on the forehead. Ed bends low to give his brother one last hug, before forcibly pulling himself away before he is physically incapable of leaving anymore.

 

“I’ll be back for you,” he vows, “I _swear_ it.”

 

He makes himself turn and _go_ and relies on one of his most important truths: Edward Elric does _not_ break his promises. He is acutely aware of Al trying not to cry behind him. He fiercely scrubs away his own unescaped tears and fortifies himself.

 

Back into the lion’s maw he goes.

 

…

 

And surprise, surprise. Grumman is still waiting outside. When he sees Ed stalk out of the house, he gives him a million-watt grin.

 

“I knew you’d see the light, Edward.” he says jovially.

 

Ed bares his teeth. “One, it’s Ranger Elric. Two, save it. You should be on your hands and knees to Al and Win for this.”

 

“Of course, of course.” Grumman says amicably, patting Ed’s shoulder absently. Ed snarls at him and the hand makes a quick retreat.

 

They are silent for the rest of the four-hour ride to Xiamen. Ed isn't stupid. He knows it's their last resort. Xiamen is the only Shatterdome left in service. And Ed is the only experienced Mark V pilot they have left in the world. Two plus two equals four.

 


	2. flamel fullmetal

 

Roy Mustang is twelve years old when a Kaiju attacks Xing.

 

He escapes with his life. His parents do not.

 

And honestly? It’s all down to a game of chance. Roy just happens to be unlucky enough to catch the attention of a Kaiju, happens to be small enough to hide behind a dumpster, happens to have an _incredible_ amount of luck at his disposal since a saviour drops out of the sky just at he is certain that death is coming for him.

 

His saviour is a man in a giant machine. The man’s name is Berthold Hawkeye. And he does not look healthy.

 

Berthold Hawkeye takes Roy back with him to Xiamen, where he is normally stationed. Berthold Hawkeye dies two weeks after their arrival- radiation poisoning. He lives _just_ long enough to place Roy in the care of his father, the up-and-coming General Grumman.

 

Roy later finds out that Berthold Hawkeye’s mission in Qingdao was a suicide mission, that his saviour never expected to come back alive; except that a little Xingese boy needed a family, and Berthold couldn’t let him down, not when _his_ target had decimated the city.

 

General Grumman cries to him that night; thanking him over and over for giving him a chance to tell his son goodbye. Roy is confused by the gesture for years before he finally gets the whole story.

 

But the next morning, General Grumman is made Marshal of the Xiamen Shatterdome.

 

The next morning, Roy gets sent away to one of the general’s closest friends, Chris Mustang. He is not allowed back in the Shatterdome until he is sixteen and ready to take on the Ranger Academy.

 

…

 

Suffice to say that he _blazes_ through his training. He qualified to be a Ranger within a year and three months, with 15 drops and 15 kills in the simulator. He’s unprecedented. The Pan Pacific Defense Corps are practically _salivating_ at the thought of Roy Mustang in a Jaeger.

 

There’s just one problem.

 

He’s not Drift-compatible with _anyone_.

 

So, they not-so-subtly hide their disappointment and he ends up getting shipped off to wherever Grumman is, following his adopted dad around the world to three different Shatterdomes. He basically has a front-row seat to the world going to _shit_.

 

They’re losing Jaegers faster than they can build them, death rates in countries along the Pacific coasts are skyrocketing, the world’s leaders are freaking the fuck out… and there’s next to nothing that Roy can actually do to help. He fruitlessly climbs the ranks; pretending that he can someday make a difference if he can reach high enough.

 

He refuses to think about how there’s probably not gonna _be_ a world to make a difference in soon.

 

…

 

But it’s 2020 when they _really_ start losing.

 

Flamel Fullmetal goes down off the Drachman coast and the world is devastated.

 

And it’s not just because Fullmetal has one of the highest kill rates known to man and sparkling reputation for an impressive defense- it’s because her pilots are the youngest to be deployed. Ever. If Jaeger pilots are widely considered as legends, then the Elric Brothers are widely considered as fucking _gods_ amongst men.

 

Edward Elric, 17, and Alphonse Elric, 16, barely attend the Academy at all. They have a six month stint at the inland Eastern Command before proving they’re unnaturally well-versed in pretty much _everything_ ; strategy, combat, engineering- you name it and they probably know it. They’re each forces of nature in their own rights, with impeccable simulator scores and a frankly incredible endurance. But together, they’re _unstoppable_ \- more than 100% drift compatible. They’re the reason why the Corps extends the measurable extent of Drift-compatibility- because they’re _literally_ off-the-charts. They even have a Jaeger custom-made for them in nine months; including for the six they were in the Academy. The extra three are taken up before they’ve even been convinced to set foot inside a military command centre.

 

As Roy says- _gods_.

 

The world hasn’t seen _anyone_ like the Elric Brothers before. Brilliant, sharp, strong, loyal, _dangerous_. There are still major debates going on about the immorality of sending out two teenagers to war, but the Elrics quickly shut down any nay-sayers down after they bring down Pride, the first-ever Category III, with an unprecedented use of alchemy in combat.

 

To this day, every single alchemist in every single nation is trying to imitate their specialty technique- clapping the hands of the Jaeger to produce an alchemic reaction- with no luck whatsoever. It’s either they don’t have the theory right or they don’t have enough energy build-up to start a noticeable transmutation.

 

Roy wouldn’t be surprised if it’s both, but his specialty has never been in metals or pure alchemic theory. He has a particular affinity for flame alchemy, even if he hasn’t gotten too far into it yet. Somehow, there are always ‘more important’ things to do.

 

Plus, it’s not a whole lot of use other than for welding, but Roy’s not certainly not _stupid_ . For all the years that he slaves over creating new alloys since the Mark V’s, he certainly doesn’t have the success rate the Elric Brother can boast in creating the alloys for Mark V's and restored Mark III’s and IV's. There’s _still_ not a better combination of metals known to man, and _goddamn_ if Roy feels better knowing that Maes and Riza are that little bit safer, that little bit faster, with a stronger, lighter metal protecting them.

 

In truth, the Elrics are what originally inspire Roy to take up a career in materials science along with his Academy training. It was painful to think about at the time, but there is always a chance he wouldn’t be Drift-compatible, and _then_ , where will he be?

 

Well, clearly much worse off than he is now- testing new alchemically-created metal alloys to use in the yet-to-be-announced-to-the-public Mark V restoration project. At least he has a job.

 

Either way, it’s just as devastating to Roy as it is to the general populace when the Elric Brothers disappear after the Kaiju attack in Primorsk. The two young men are nothing short of inspirational, no matter who you ask, and to lose them just like _that_? It’s a slap in face, honestly.

 

To Roy, it means that they need more Jaegers and more pilots. And _fast_.

 

To the United Governments of the Free Countries, it means they need a different plan.

 

So _that’s_ when the Coastal Wall Development Project comes into fruition.

 

…

 

“Xiamen Shatterdome! Category II coming your way!” someone hollers over the radio. Roy startles in his seat. He’s just about to drift off at his workstation- a dangerous habit, especially with toxic chemicals sitting around.

 

“Roger that!” someone else says back. “Reset the clock!”

 

A chorus of groans sound around the Shatterdome. Everyone _really_ hates having to reset the War Clock. Before, when the Kaiju attacks were less frequent, it was a symbol of hope. Now it just represents how fast the end of the world is coming for them.

 

This time, it’s Riza and Maes that are deployed to battle with Xerxes, apparently an unusually gold coloured Kaiju. Hawk’s Blade, their Mark III Jaeger, is one of the most methodically devastating the Corps have in service. They’re _legends_ , not just in Xiamen, but across the continent, for being amazingly steady and precise. They have the most one-shot-kills in history by far. Roy can personally vouch that with Riza manning the plasma gun, it’s not really a surprise.

 

And no matter bittersweet as it is, no matter how much Roy wishes that _he_ could be the one standing side-by-side with one of his best friends; he knows at the end of the day, he’s not nearly as Drift-compatible with either Maes or Riza as they are with each other. They’re two of the most level-headed, dedicated, loyal people he knows, how could they _not_ fit together perfectly? Roy’s truly, honestly, one-hundred-percent proud of them; but sometimes, he would literally give _anything_ not to be cooped up in the Shatterdome, fruitlessly trying to engineer better alloys to use in the stupid Mark V restoration project while there are people out risking their lives in giant, metal death traps that Roy helps build with his own two hands.

 

…

 

“Category II!”

 

…

 

“Reset the clock!”

 

…

 

“Category III!”

 

…

 

“Category II!”

 

…

 

‘Category III!”

 

…

 

“Xiamen Shatterdome, you have a Category III coming your way!”

 

…

 

“Reset the clock!”

 

…

 

Roy lives through another year of constant Kaiju attacks, and as much as he’d like to stay optimistic, Riza and Maes really aren’t helping. They never say it, but Roy can see it in their faces, their gaits, their sluggish movements: Earth doesn’t have a lot of time left.

 

Maes, especially, shows the signs. He’s no longer the exuberant, resolute man Roy once knew. Now, he walks around with bags under his eyes, his clothes no longer fitting so well, his glasses no longer crystal-clear, having not talked to or about his family in _months_. Roy’s the one who has to sneak quiet updates to Gracia and Elysia, always trying to downplay the situation, but Maes didn’t just marry Gracia for her beauty; she’s sharp as a tack. She’s seen the news, she can hear the fatigue in Roy’s voice, and in Maes’, when he’s able to muster up the enthusiasm to call her and be able to smile.

 

Riza is more subtle. Roy knows she’s bought concealer for the first time in _years_ , and she applies it so well, Roy only knows because the boy at the trading store on base asked if Ranger Hawkeye had a date. Her movements, once gracefully economical, are now carefully calculated to waste as little energy as possible. Her eyes are haunted. She’s being beaten down and is trying not to show it for the rest of the world. She is one of the only Rangers left alive, and she is _painfully_ aware of it.

 

But this can’t go on forever. The sand is slipping through their fingers and Roy can’t engineer a good enough sealant to stop the leak.

 

…

 

He walks into the lab one day, and has to do a double-take.

 

The technicians are all gathered around a lab bench, _giggling_. God, how long has it been since Roy heard true laughter? He ambles over with a smile on his face, peeking over at whatever’s amusing his colleagues so much.

 

One of the interns, Eliza, is gracious enough to explain the situation to him. “We got a mail dump this morning, and _this_ came in with it. It came forwarded from Eastern, I guess they wanted to see if we could figure it out,” she laughs, turning back to the particularly amusing piece of mail.

 

It’s a coded letter, Roy realises. No matter how funny it would be, _no one_ could ever write _so many_ pages solely on ‘A Comparison of Different Sheep-Based Fabric Tensile Strengths’ and send it to a _military command centre._

 

“Wait,” he says, “but that implies that they’ve already figured it out.”

 

“Of course they did,” Eliza says, looking at him confusedly, “don’t you ever listen to the news?”

 

“Not much anymore,” Roy admits.

 

“Well, you’re gonna _love_ this!” she exclaims, grinning widely. “Apparently it came as an anonymous letter to Eastern Command, but I was eating in the mess this morning near the Marshal, and rumour has it: it was the _Elric Brothers_. Eastern’s been keeping whatever they wrote on a tight leash, but I guess they wanted us to know too. It must be about the Kaiju…” she muses.

 

But Roy’s already stopped paying attention at the mention of the Elric Brothers. It appears they’ve decided to enter the game once more.

 

Sheep-based fabric tensile strengths, though?

 

* * *

 

Edward’s arrival in the Shatterdome is a quiet affair. The helicopter touches down on the roof, and there’s no one waiting except a solemn Xingese man with an umbrella. It’s raining.

 

“Ah, Roy!” Grumman exclaims happily. “So glad you could meet us here. This is Edward Elric, I’m sure you’ve heard of him. Ranger Elric, this is Roy Mustang. He’ll be taking care of you whilst you’re here.”

 

“A pleasure.” Ed bites out. Roy acknowledges him with a nod and turns to Grumman. “ _I wasn’t expecting him to be this short_.” he says in Xingese. Grumman laughs, but is cut off by Ed’s thrashed-down rage.

 

“ _Who the fuck are you calling smaller than a neutron in a low energy state, you bastard?!_ ” he shrieks. Roy looks amused for a split-second before he is shuttered once more behind solemnity.

 

“My apologies, Ranger Elric.” he says, formally bowing at the waist to Edward.

 

Ed grunts in reply, stalking out from beneath Roy’s giant umbrella, clearly demonstrating he’d rather walk through the rain rather than be stuck with Grumman and the bastard he calls a caretaker. Ed knows his joints are going to be aching whether he gets soaked through or not, but he can’t imagine it’s _helping_. They better have hot showers, he thinks churlishly.

 

And just as he steps into the Shatterdome-

 

- _smack_. Ed reels backwards, doing the best he can from keeping his automail limbs from hitting anyone.

 

“Oh my gosh, sorry sorry sorry!” a high-pitched voice calls apologetically. Ed waves his left hand nonchalantly in the direction of the voice. It kind of sounds like Al. He looks up, no longer having to focus so hard on keeping his right hand from flailing and his left leg from kicking out when he was unbalanced.

 

And it’s a kid. A little blonde kid, who’s looking up at him with eyes so genuinely _sorry_ and _worried_ for him. The kid really does remind him of Al.

 

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Ed says gently, giving replica-Al a smile. “What’s your name?”

 

Replica-Al beams. “Fletcher Tringham, sir!”

 

“Nice to meet you, Fletcher.” Ed says. “And you can drop the ‘sir’, I’m no one important.”

 

“But you _are_!" Fletcher says insistently. He’s probably going to say something about the Jae- “You’re the one who published that paper about the theoretical possibility of automail internal organs!” Well colour Ed pleasantly surprised. “You and Miss Rockbell are _geniuses_ , sir!”

 

Ed laughs warmly. “Nah, _she_ totally is. I’m just the guy along for the ride. What’d you think of our paper then?”

 

There about a million supernovae going off in Fletcher’s eyes at once. “What did I think? What did I _think_? Is there any other way to think other than that it was _brilliant_?!” he all but shrieks. “The way that you guys outlined the applications of the technology so awesomely, like, _everyone_ kept saying it was so impossible and all that, but then you write about the _actual_ possibility of _light metal alloys_ and even start theorising possible ones to use?! Your paper, sir, was a _breakthrough_! A perfect blend of biology, chemistry and physics! You and Miss Rockbell are pretty much the only researchers that have openly shared fledgling ideas that could actually take off. You’re going to help _so_ many people.”

 

“Wow kid.” Ed says, momentarily stunned. “Have you heard of anyone making use of the paper, then?”

 

Fletcher nods vigorously. “Of course! Here, they’ve been experimenting as best they can since the Drift can affect some internal organs in Rangers if they’re not compatible enough. No one’s really succeeded though, but I know your paper’s been invaluable to them. R&D had _no_ idea of where to go before it came out.”

 

“I’m glad we got to have an impact like that then.” is all Ed can manage. “Hey, you know, Win and I have been working on an automail liver ourselves. I think in a few weeks, we should be able to advertise it to the public; she should be almost done with the finishing touches by now.”

 

The noise that Fletcher makes is so endearingly _Al_ , Ed can’t breathe for a second. He misses his brother already.

 

“I can’t believe it! An automail _liver_ , Mr Elric, you’re _amazing_!”

 

“I can introduce you, if you like. Over the phone, of course, since Win’ll never be able to make it out here, but still-”

 

Fletcher is already nodding, more stars in his eyes.

 

“Oi! Fletch!” a harsh voice comes from further inside the Shatterdome, but Ed can hear footsteps coming closer. Fletcher immediately reacts to the voice, whipping around to look at-

 

-another blonde, striding half-arrogantly, half-angrily towards them. “What did I tell you about talking to strangers?”

 

“Um,” Fletcher gulps, “not to?”

 

“That’s right.” The blonde turns to Ed. “Who are you?” he demands.

 

“Ed Elric, nice to meet you.”

 

“Elric?” the blonde says, raising a judgemental eyebrow. Ed nods, unimpressed. He likes Fletcher at least a trillion times better than this dude.

 

“Brother,” Fletcher steps between them, “ _please_ don’t antagonise him.”

 

Brother? This guy is actually _related_ to Fletcher? What the fuck.

 

Well, Ed’s brain rationalises, in retrospect, people _could_ say the same about Al and me. Maybe he’s just protective of his-

 

“Well I imagined him taller, for one.” Fletcher’s brother comments off-handedly. Ed sees red.

 

“Who’re you calling smaller than an amoeba, you _jackass_!” he screams. It’s right at that moment that Roy and Grumman walk up behind him.

 

“Nice to know it wasn’t just me.” Roy’s bastard voice says from under his bastard umbrella. “But try not to anger our newest Ranger, Russell.”

 

“Sorry sir.” ‘Russell’ says, not sounding very apologetic. Fletcher salutes smartly to Roy and the Marshal, then proceeds to forcibly tug his older brother off to better pastures. The kid has good instincts. Ed knows he’s gonna go places someday.

 

“Roy will see you to your quarters.” Grumman says, clapping Roy on the shoulder and walking off to who-knows-where. Ed grits his teeth. “After you.” he says in an attempt at politeness.

 

“It’s not like I’m going to be following _you_ , am I?” Roy snarks. Scrap the politeness, Ed notes. He rolls his eyes and gestures for Roy to start walking. The man only complies after giving Ed three full seconds of him smirking his goddamn face off.

 

Smug bastard.

 

…

 

“I’ve hand-picked each of your candidates.” Roy says Ed as they stroll through the Shatterdome. “I’ve studied your combat style and your general strategies to assist me in determining the personality and fighting type that would best fit you in the Drift.”

 

“Oh yeah?” Ed says, not actually that interested. “So what’d you think?”

 

“If I may be frank,” Roy begins, sounding very much like he’s going to be frank no matter how Ed answers him, “I thought you were too showy.”

 

If the man means to offend him, he hasn’t done a great job. “Thanks. We kinda meant to be.” Ed replies. “Nice to know someone’s appreciated it.”

 

“But why?” Roy says, doing a complete one-eighty from ‘smugly insulting’ to ‘clueless’.

 

“Think about it.” Ed bites out. He really doesn’t want to have to talk any more than he has to. He’s tried subtly upping their walking pace three times, but Roy just isn’t having it. “We’re the youngest two Rangers out there, hell the youngest to graduate from the Academy. _Ever_. People were already sceptical of us, so we had to make ourselves look as good as fucking possible for them to stop. So we did. And they stopped. Worked, didn’t it?”

 

Roy sees the light. “So you pulled half the stuff you did _just_ to make yourself _look good_?” He sounds incredulous. “You know you were risking people’s lives, _right_?”

 

“Hey.” Ed says, completely stopping. “We were in _no_ way risking anyone’s life. If you didn’t realise, for most of our fights, we were completely off-shore; no way to even _see_ the coastline. And if you _also_ didn’t realise, _we always had the upper hand_. Always. If there was even a _sign_ of us slipping, you can bet that me and Al would’ve ended that fight as soon as fucking possible, okay? _That_ was our strategy; we couldn’t put anyone’s lives at risk, _and_ we couldn’t have people thinking that letting us pilot a Jaeger would ever put their lives at risk. We had to look like the best of the best, because you bet your ass we were.”

 

Roy looks blown away. “I… I never thought of it that way.”

 

“Then make sure to fucking get _every_ side of the story before you make judgements, bastard. Now let’s go to my fucking dorm. Hurry up.”

 

Roy complies. They spend the rest of the walk in silence.

 

* * *

 

He grudgingly takes Ed around the Shatterdome the next day.

 

The first thing he does is show Ed where the mess hall is, acerbically informing Ed that he should really remember its location and that he has better things to do than to show Ed around like a lost duckling.

 

Ed, of course, is extraordinarily confused at the heightened anger Roy seems to be displaying; sure, they were kind of like cyclohexane and methanol, on one hand, didn’t like to mix with each other much, but on the other hand, they certainly didn’t explode.

 

So he does what he does best. He snarls right back at Roy, hurling insults with the best of them.

 

After that, they spend the day in tense silence, with Roy barking out important place names along their way around the Shatterdome.

 

Thankfully, they both catch a bit of a break when they get to the labs; Roy goes off for an hour or two to catch up on some metal alloy work- boring- and Ed gets an enthusiastic temporary babysitter in the form of Fletcher Tringham.

 

“Hey Fletcher!” Ed says gratefully the moment that he’s out of Roy’s stifling company.

 

“Ed!” the boy says happily, wrist deep in Kaiju innards. Ed looks on in fascination.

 

“Oh!” Fletcher notices his interested stare. Kaiju tissue is nothing like he’s ever seen before. “We just got this one freshly harvested from Hawk’s kill earlier this week. Pretty cool, huh?”

 

“Definitely.” Ed agrees. “Care to fill me in on the work you’ve done? I haven’t really had the chance to study any biology, I’ve only really dabbled with Win. You know the results of that, of course,” he throws a rakish grin in Fletcher’s direction and he laughs brightly, nodding. “Personally, I’m into alchemy, but I poke my nose into the other hard sciences too sometimes.”

 

“Poke your nose in?” Fletcher laughs. “I’m pretty sure you’ve turned chemistry’s head in at least once with your work on metal alloys. That’s definitely more than just curiosity in my book.”

 

Ed shrugs modestly. “It kinda went hand-in-hand with alchemy, to be honest. There’s a lot that chemistry doesn’t explain about alchemy. It’s all science, of course, but I guess some of the movements of particles and rapid change of states doesn’t help much, huh?”

 

“Totally,” Fletcher agrees. “My brother says something like that too. He was into alchemy a little while back.” Ed’s opinion of Fletcher’s asshole brother reluctantly rises a few notches.

 

“Anyways!” Fletcher shakes himself out of the sidetracked conversation Ed swept him up in. “Kaiju!”

 

Ed nods encouragingly, listening mode firmly on.

 

“What we’ve discovered about them in such a short time is _so_ fascinating, I almost don’t know where to begin! So it’s like this: here’s a specimen from that attack in Primorsk, I’m sure you’ve heard of that one, and here’s one from Cudillero, you know, from Creta? _Oh_ , and this one- it’s practically decomposed though- and it’s from _years_ ago when they first attacked here…”

 

Ed hasn’t had this much fun in ages.

 

…

 

“Time to go now, Elric.” Roy’s drawl comes from behind him as Fletcher keeps chattering about his theories on Kaiju genetics. It’s certainly unprecedented, and even though Ed can kind of see why the other biologists working here are more hesitant to really consider what Fletcher says… well, Ed _lives_ for unprecedented.

 

He loves unorthodox, loves thinking outside the box, loves coming up with the most outlandish things and still managing to prove they’re right. It might be one of the most satisfying things about publishing papers for him. He certainly doesn’t do it for the fame, not that he needs it at all. In fact, ‘Edward Elric’ hasn’t published a solo paper since Fullmetal went down. He’s pretty sure a good percentage of the world’s population thinks he’s dead, at least, the percentage that isn’t in the science community.

 

‘James Rosenberg’, on the other hand, has since come out with a few of Ed’s more traditional, conventional theories. He might jump through the hoops to bring those papers back under his own name one day, but as of now, he’s pretty happy with that one he co-wrote with Winry about the automail internal organs. It’s only a very specialised group of people that are interested in what the two of them have to say, but if it helps make the world a better place, then so be it. That’s all they’re aiming for anyways.

 

“Elric. I _said_ , time to go. I’d be fine with leaving you here, but it’s not like you know your way around this place yourself.”

 

“Alright, alright, bastard! Just a second.” Ed says exasperatedly, finishing up scrawling line of annotations for Fletcher with an even messier hand than usual.  

 

“ _Waiting_ , Elric.”

 

“Right okay, done. Fletch- anytime you wanna bounce a couple ideas off someone, you know where to find me, yeah?”

 

“Yeah!”

 

“ _Elric_.”

 

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, good God.”

 

“ _Finally_. Thanks for keeping an eye on this one, Dr Tringham. I swear an entire Age could’ve gone by in the time you kept me here, Elric…”

 

“No problem!” Fletcher chirps before Ed can snarl anything at Roy. “Bye Ed, bye sir!”

 

Roy drags Ed straight out of there before he can even reply.

 

…

 

The rest of the day is filled with Edward’s chatter. Roy _would_ say he’s annoyed with the constant science talk, but then he’d be lying. As irritating as the man is, Edward Elric has always been one of Roy’s role models, at least, scientifically. Getting the chance to hear him talk shop for so long is kind of an honour, no matter how frustrating Roy finds him; especially since Edward’s well-known for refusing to lecture. Anywhere.

 

And then, not to mention the whole falling-off-the-radar thing.

 

So yeah, there hasn’t been much in terms of science coming from Edward’s genius mind and into the public eye as of late, and now, Roy gets to hear his rapid thought process firsthand.

 

It’s actually really unbelievable, how quickly Edward can go from one topic to another, creating ingenious connections between them that Roy couldn’t even _dream_ of thinking up.

 

“So,” Edward says, jerking Roy out of his drifting thoughts, “you got anything good you’re working on, Mustang?”

 

Roy clears his throat awkwardly. A curl of embarrassment is twining through his insides at being caught daydreaming when he really should be listening. Edward just looks highly amused, but doesn’t call him out on it. “Well, yes and no.” Roy says vaguely, shrugging his shoulders with a grimace. “It’s not like anyone’s had any kind of breakthrough on lightweight, strong metal alloys since you and your brother.”

 

Edward preens at that and Roy does his best to rearrange his expression into something that seems disgusted at the lack of modesty being shown. “Me and Al have always been good at that kinda stuff, I guess. We both love alchemy.”

 

“Wow so modest.” Roy says dryly. “Tell me something I _don’t_ know.”

 

Clearly Edward can’t detect sarcasm, because he gives Roy’s quip some proper thought. “Well… I bet you don’t know it was actually just me who was doing the alchemy thing in Fullmetal.”

 

Roy feels floored. This completely contradicts the assumption that it required _both_ pilots to be competent alchemists in order to do what Fullmetal was so famous for; the creation of alchemic energy at a clap of its hands.

 

“Wait so-”

 

“Yeah,” Edward says. For once, the kid looks pensive rather than smug. “All it takes is one alchemist who knows what they’re doing and there you go. Transmutations on a whole new scale.”

 

“How does one-” Roy starts, but Edward’s expression clouds over like an overcast sky coming in on a previously sunny morning.

 

“That’s not appropriate conversation, I’m afraid.” Edward’s mouth turns up in a dangerous closed-lipped smile. Roy gets the general impression of a wolf, even if there aren’t any teeth showing. “Don’t ask again.”

 

Roy nods cautiously. He has to tread carefully from here. “Would you like to go take a look at Fullmetal then?”

 

Edward’s expression clears in a matter of milliseconds. “Ready when you are.” he chirps. Roy suppresses a shiver at how viciously mercurial Edward can be.

 

…

 

“Fuck.” is all Ed can manage when he sees the Jaeger for the first time in what feels like millenia.

 

“Still look like she used to?” Roy asks.

 

“Yeah. I can see they’ve changed around some parts though.” Ed murmurs. For some reason, even with the whir and thud of workers and machinery below them, seeing Flamel Fullmetal again still feels like something sacred.

 

Roy hums in agreement. “We attached a sword to the right arm, but kept it clear in case any clapping would still be happening.” he says, tiptoeing carefully around the subject of combat alchemy.

 

Ed doesn’t rise to it though, sensing that Roy doesn’t actually want to pry or upset him. He lets it go for now, choosing not to reply. The only person who Ed will ever share the secret with, is whoever ends up as his partner. He’s fine with incriminating himself, but he can’t bring Al down with him. Only after his Drift-compatible copilot signs the confidentiality agreement and the contract stating that nothing seen in the Drift can be used against him, will he ever let them know about that one night where he nearly lost everything.

 

But Ed turns away from the subject of some of his best memories and worst nightmares. His thoughts have taken a dark turn, and he doesn’t need to be in sight of the second of his greatest failures right now.

 

“I’m done here. I can show myself back to my dorm.” he throws over his shoulder at Roy, offering no explanations and leaving the other man wondering what he did wrong.

 


	3. drift-compatible

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: i have no idea how fight scenes even work i'm sorry + roy turned out really mercurial for some reason??

 

 

The next morning, Ed wakes up bright and early. He’s slept worse than he has in _years_. For one, Al’s not here. That’s immediately conductive to a horrible night’s sleep. Two, the mattress is as hard as fuckin’ rock. Not that he really cared when he clocked out, but with a sore back, he’s already planning on gathering some softer material to transmute into the stupid thing sometime this afternoon.

 

Plus, he has candidate trials today. That means he’s gonna have to see Roy again.

 

Oh the joy.

 

…

 

Everyone is staring.

 

Ed is in a black tank top and everyone’s _staring at him_.

 

“What’re you looking at?” he snaps, bringing his automail arm behind his body as much as he possibly can to shield it from the half-horrified, half-intensely-curious gazes of about fifty people.

 

“Shall we get started then?” Roy’s sickly sweet tones wash over the group. Ed swears he can see at least ten of the girls sigh wistfully in the bastard’s general direction. He rolls his eyes. God help him if he ends up being Drift-compatible with one of _them_.

 

…

 

Forty-nine completely incompatible candidates later, Ed is just about to pin the last one for a third time. Honestly, it’s a little pathetic. He was probably already above this when he was eight and he and Al were training under Teacher. It’s almost like the Ranger programme _wants_ its future soldiers dead in combat.

 

Then Roy lets out a little _sigh_ behind him.

 

“ _What_?!” he snarls, whipping around, smacking his opponent in the face with his bō, possibly breaking his nose. Ed could care less. The subject of Ed’s ire only raises one infuriating eyebrow.

 

“Nothing.”

 

“No, it’s _something_ \- care to share with the class?”

 

“I’d really rather not.”

 

“Well, too bad. Spit it out, bastard.”

 

“It’s just,” Roy says pompously, “your combat style here doesn’t even match your combat style in a Jaeger. Here, it’s just like you don’t even care. If you’re not willing to put in the effort, then why should we care so much about you? It’s not like we’re running low on pilots or anything.”

 

“Oh yeah? How many of them have any _real_ experience piloting a Mark V then?” Ed challenges him. Roy visibly grits his teeth. “And if you’re so sure about my _effort_ or whatever, why don’t come down here and fight me yourself?”

 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Roy says guardedly.

 

“I think otherwise.”

 

“I’d really rather not.”

 

“Don’t lie to me, bastard. Your stupid mouth says one thing, your dumb face says another…”

 

“Enough, Ranger.” Grumman says firmly, speaking up for the first time in two hours.

 

“Marshal,” Ed says irritably, “personally, I don’t see what’s so wrong about letting the guy fight me. If he wants to get himself into this mess, then it’s his choice to make, not yours. Respectfully.” he adds grudgingly at the end.

 

Roy looks at Grumman almost beseechingly. They have a staring contest for a few seconds before Grumman backs down. “One match.”

 

Roy doesn’t say anything, but Ed catches a hint of gratitude in his eyes.

 

“Well come on, I haven’t got all day.” Ed goads him, settling into a loose fighting stance.

 

“You know, patience is a virtue.”

 

“Yeah, but not one of _my_ virtues, bastard. Now hurry up.”

 

Roy rolls his eyes, but gingerly picks up his own bō, twirling it fancily before crouching in preparation of Ed’s attack. For every single one of the fifty other candidates, he’s struck first.

 

But thing is, Roy has no idea how he fights when he actually wants to gauge his opponent rather than wipe the floor with them in the least amount of time possible. In short, he’s never seen Ed fight _Al_. Other thing is, Ed’s never seen Roy fight either, but he’s a lot less concerned about that, especially with Teacher’s training behind him- never go into a fight thinking you know what to expect.

 

They spend a long time just circling each other. Roy seems almost surprised at the amount of restraint and calculation Ed is showing. Serves him right; people are actually unpredictable, multi-faceted beings, who knew?

 

Clearly not Roy, that’s who, Ed thinks scathingly.

 

The bastard ends up striking first. Ed slips out of his stance and around Roy’s bō, managing a neat hit to the small of Roy’s back in his twist around the man’s lunge. He’s close enough to hear the low growl that emits from Roy as he scores the first point.

 

“One-zero.” Ed says smugly, not even bothering to get back into a proper fighting stance. He just stands tall, bō held loosely in his hands. It’s his most comfortable state, and easy for him to perform a wide range of movements from. It’s pretty hard to flip backwards from a crouch where his weight is pushed forwards. But to Roy, it just looks like he’s extremely arrogant.

 

Ed chooses to lunge first this time. He keeps his distance from Roy and swings out with the far end of his bō, which Roy easily dodges. They comfortably trade blows for a while, with Roy using strategy and speed to dodge and parry Ed’s moves, and Ed using extreme flexibility and strength to fend Roy off.

 

Finally, Roy manages to trip him up by taking a huge risk- lunging out to stick his right foot straight into Ed’s path before it’s too late for him to swerve around or halt his stride, sending Ed toppling and Roy along with him. The idiot clearly forgets to account for the weight of an automail arm _and_ leg, but still gets his bō to Ed’s neck before Ed can retrieve his own.

 

“One-one.” Roy says mildly, but there’s a hint of pride behind the calm façade. Ed grins wolfishly, giving Roy a second to register ‘worry’ before he flips the man onto his back. Ed’s bō is across his chest faster than he can blink. “Two-one, actually.” Ed murmurs amusedly. He keeps Roy down for a second longer before slinking off, prowling the edges of the mat as he waits for his opponent to pull himself up.

 

Ed strikes again, showing Roy he can be lightning-fast when he wants to. The bastard barely manages to block off Ed’s assault, instead leading him in a circle around the mat. After a sudden change in direction, Roy escapes Ed’s bō and retreats to the opposite end.

 

They circle some more, Roy sizing up Ed’s weaknesses, and Ed sizing up Roy sizing Ed up. He lets a little limp in his left foot go, the metal thumping more loudly against the hard mats than before. He also lets his right arm drag heavy, moving it more sluggishly than he usually does. His body gives off the impression of relaxed, but Ed’s ready to tense and roll away at any moment. He doubts Roy can see it though.

 

He doesn’t. The idiot chooses to come at Ed from across the mats with his bō outstretched- a stupid move. Ed knocks it out of Roy’s hands, then immediately presents a small, but solid stumbling block. Roy gracelessly rolls off of Ed’s back with all his excess momentum. The poor bastard looks disoriented for a moment, but regains himself before Ed can strike. He desperately scrambles out of the way of Ed’s attack and comes out the other side looking guarded, his knees bent low, torso forward and bō out in preparation for defense.

 

Ed waits, wanting to force Roy once again to make a move. He wants to see what the bastard does when he’s _really_ desperate, when he’s about to lose the fight. Will he come back with a vengeance or will he fizzle out and accept his fate? Ed knows what kind of person he wants his copilot to be and Roy seems to be shaping up well so far.

 

Roy lunges, taking care to strike fast enough to chance hitting Ed, but not trying to get too far into his defense that if Ed can move out of the way, he won’t be stumbling forward with his back an open target. A smarter move- he’s learning, Ed thinks. Turns out, Ed _is_ fast enough to spin neatly out of range, but by the time he’s facing Roy again, the man’s already recovered and is about to launch another attack. They trade blows, ducking and weaving around the flurry of bōs coming at, and from each other. Finally, Roy manages to get a hit to Ed’s automail leg that he isn’t quite able to bring as high as his flesh one when he handsprings to get out of the reach of Roy’s bō.

 

“Two-two, it looks like.” Ed says, infusing his tone with a slight respect. He bows low, just like Teacher taught him to at the end of a good fight. Roy looks a little confused, but hesitantly bows back.

 

“Looks like.” Roy echoes him when he comes back up, his smirk telling Ed that he heard it. He’s sweating like crazy. Ed, on the other hand, has barely broken one, looking almost rejuvenated.

 

“So, how was that for _effort_?” Ed snarks, offering Roy a hand up. He graciously accepts.

 

“Could’ve used a little more.” Roy says, his smirk carving itself deeper into his face by the millisecond.

 

“What the hell do you _mean_ , ‘could’ve used more’? I tried pretty hard for that, thanks a lot, bastard!”

 

“A little.”

 

“A what?” Ed says dangerously.

 

“I said,” Roy clarifies smugly, clearly wanting Ed to appreciate his 'clever use of syntax' or some shit, “you could’ve used _a little_ more. You seem to have missed that part.” 

 

“ _Who the hell’re you calling so small-_!”

 

“Congratulations,” Grumman interrupts them, smiling widely, “it appears you two are Drift-compatible.”

 

“Drift-what?” Ed says stupidly, looking dumbfounded. Roy looks almost offended.

 

“Drift-compatible.”

 

“Yeah, yeah I have _ears_ , but with _this_ bastard? Seriously?” Ed says incredulously. Roy _definitely_ looks offended.

 

“What’s so wrong with being Drift-compatible with me, Edward?”

 

“It’s _you_!” Ed sputters. “For one, I don’t even like you! Two, you don’t even like _me_? What’s the point?”

 

“I never said that.” Roy counters. “Actually, I do quite like you. Your candor is refreshing.”

 

“My candor is… Jesus Christ you bastard, your vocabulary is _really_ something.”

 

“Something good or something bad?”

 

“Bad. Definitely bad.”

 

…

 

Roy is… perplexed.

 

“I think you’ve finally found someone who can keep up with you, my boy.” Grumman says to him fondly in the privacy of his office. Madame Christmas is sprawled calculatedly on one of the lounges.

 

Roy hems and haws. “I don’t think he likes me very much.”

 

“That may be so,” the old man doesn’t even deny it, “but your match didn’t lie. I must admit, I was hesitant to let you fight him-”

 

“Why?” Roy butts in. “It’s not like he would’ve beaten me _that_ easily…” The Madame guffaws. Roy shoots her a wounded look.

 

Grumman looks at him dubiously. “You _are_ aware he’s able to crush bone with his metal limbs if he’s not careful?”  

 

Roy did… _not_ know that. He can feel his jaw dropping and can’t do anything about it. The Madame laughs even harder. “Roy-boy, you said it yourself- the kid _really_ doesn’t like you.”

 

All the fight leaves him in one over-exaggerated sigh. “I suppose so.”

 

Grumman chuckles. “I don’t really have to go in for a test run with him at the end of the week, then?” Roy says hopefully.

 

“Oh no, no, no,” Grumman says. Roy’s stomach drops. He refuses to call the feeling ‘fear’. “You two are the best chance we’ve had in a very long time, my boy.”

 

* * *

 

In a strange twist of fate, Roy finds himself staring at Edward Elric when he’s actually supposed to be working.

 

He finds himself doing that a lot these days.

 

Edward is much more volatile than Roy could’ve ever expected, even though he was exposed to the frenzied media surrounding the Elrics at the peak of their fame just as much, if not more, than the rest of the population of the Free Countries.

 

He’s also much more captivating than Roy could’ve ever imagined. Of course, he’s attractive in the traditional sense; anyone with eyes can see that, whether it be in person or from a gossip rag cover. Roy’s lived with _that_ truth for years. But Edward’s natural charisma is a completely different matter. As grating as the young man can be, he can be equally charming. With sharp wit and overwhelming intelligence paired with innate frankness, Edward Elric is akin to one of those biting gales that blow through just before winter sets in; chilling Roy pleasantly to his bones but somehow leaving him refreshed rather than freezing cold. Edward is _just_ cool enough to feel a little _dangerous_ and Roy likes it.

 

God, he likes it a _lot_.

 

But he’d probably like it better if he could get more than displeased grunts out of Edward. Which just leads him back to the staring bit.

 

It’s not like anyone can blame him; Edward is controlled chaos in the laboratory, his home-away-from-home. He strides around like he owns the place, his shoulders more relaxed than Roy’s seen so far, his smile coming easier as he throws together a few chemicals for the lab techs, his chatter so much more uninhibited as he’s talking Kaiju anatomy to Fletcher Tringham over his shoulder.

 

Since the most Roy seems to be able to get him to do is spit flames of anger, this the most _alive_ he sees Ed on a regular basis, so he takes what he can get.

 

* * *

 

“Ready to go?” Edward asks him. Roy honest-to-alchemy feels like he’s going to throw up all over himself any minute now.

 

“Yeah,” he replies breathily. He can see Ed frown in the corner of his eye.

 

“You know we can do this another time if you’re feeling sick or something? As much as they like to pretend, it’s really _our_ show.”

 

Roy grimaces weakly, knowing he failed miserably at trying to reassure his copilot. “No, it’s fine. Just nerves.”

 

“Yeah,” Edward extends the word out disbelievingly, “well, if you feel any different in the next fifteen or so minutes, we can call it off, yeah?”

 

Roy nods, feeling a little bit odd now that Edward is looking at him with concern as opposed to the usual scorn. But it’s not like Edward’s _throwing_ himself at Roy or anything to make him feel _uncomfortable_ , per se; he’s just trying to be _nice_ . It’s what non-sociopathic people _do_ , Roy reminds himself, and as much as he hates to admit it, two of Edward Elric’s actual hobbies are to make things that help people with his own two hands and genius brain, and to pet stray kittens.

 

Though it messes up with his general impression of Edward, there’s some part of his brain that knows his copilot is a goddamn nice person. With a really great ass, another part of his brain notes. Then he tells that part of his brain to shut up and stop projecting his own disgustingly schoolboy-esque crush onto one, someone who’s he’s going to have a neural connection with in about twenty minutes; and two, someone who’s literally like a decade his junior.

 

“I could use some extra time to call Al,” Edward throws out false-casually, “it’s not like they’ve given me much to do anything with in the first place. Bastards.” he adds vindictively. The lack of response from Command is quite telling.

 

“Ready to be suited up?” One of the technicians asks them. Roy notes that Edward waits for him to answer first. Like he’s afraid Roy will goddamn _break_ any minute. He nods tersely, so Edward nods decisively, raising his arms level with his shoulders to make it easier to for the techs to manoeuvre around his body, sending a silent message to Roy to follow his lead.

 

Edward is relaxed as he can be around other people, and does his best to make conversation with the poor interns who have to fumble around with their Drivesuits. Roy, in great contrast, is horribly twitchy and faces the consequences when part of his outer armour clips the skin in his neck as it’s being placed on. He hisses in pain, and the intern immediately sprouts apologies, hands fluttering over Roy’s neck. Edward takes it upon himself to dismiss the girl’s flood of ‘sorry’s since Roy doesn’t do anything but glare, and offers to switch his calm, efficient intern out with Roy’s jumpier one. The almost-tearful girl gratefully shuffles over to Edward and quietly finishes plating his outer armour and spinal clamp. She softly relays to Command that Ranger Elric’s preparation is successful when the relay gel disperses through the helmet and Edward is able to pull a couple of martial art forms with no problems. Roy gets finished only a minute or two later and sharply waves the interns out of the room, slinking over to his copilot’s side to warm up with him.

 

“Not too bad?” Edward asks casually, lunging to stretch out his hamstrings.

 

“I don’t need pity.” Roy bites out as he’s loosening his spine.

 

“Good thing I’m not giving you any, then.” Edward snarks back. “I’m gonna be in your head in a couple of minutes. It would be nice if I didn’t have to endure a freak-out.”

 

“ _Endure_ , huh?” Roy sneers, fully aware he's blowing things out of proportion. He feels like he's watching everything he's doing from within a cage of plexiglass- watching himself crumble to pieces without being about to _do_ anything about it. “Why don’t you go and choose another partner then? God knows you’ll have the pick of them. Maybe they’ll be less of a _hindrance_.”

 

Edward snorts, striding over to Roy and forcibly turning his body to stand face-to-face with him. “Look, Mustang. I’m only gonna say this once: I know that. I know I could have any fucking person I wanted, and I chose you. You were the stubbornest bastard out there and God knows _I_ didn’t want a fucking yes-man. Now let’s get this test Drop over with so I can beat some sense into your goddamn puny brain.”

 

Roy tries to smile, but it comes out on the dim side. “Thanks. I guess.” he murmurs.

 

“Didn’t want to be _thanked_ , bastard. I wanted you to stop freaking the fuck out.” Ed waves him off, but gives himself away by forcing the corners of his mouth down instead of _really_ scowling. “Besides,” he says darkly, “there are some things you’re gonna see that I’m not too proud of either.” Roy takes a breath in to reply, but Edward cuts him off.

 

“Yo, Grumman!” his copilot yells, raising his voice several decibels. Roy winces. “We’re all set up here!”

 

“Roger that, boys.” comes the reply, and the hydraulic door to the Conn-Pod opens. Ed and Roy step in together. Roy feels a little uncertain at which side he should take, and against his better judgement, looks to Edward. Edward, however, strolls around like the Conn-Pod is his property. It kind of is, Roy thinks reflectively. He must’ve spent a lot of hours in here, once upon a time.

 

“I’ll take the right side, if you don’t mind.” Edward says, presumptuously swinging into the first pilot’s harness. Roy bristles for a second before he catches Edward’s expression when he looks at the empty second pilot. He looks _haunted_ , there’s no other way Roy can describe it. He looks like Marshal Grumman does when Roy silently signals to him that his nose is bleeding. Roy almost forgets an integral part of the Elric Brothers’ legend: Edward had to pilot Fullmetal solo all the way to shore. He shakily steps into what must’ve been Edward’s place a lifetime ago, without complaint. He misses Edward’s blink-and-you-miss it grateful look.

 

They lock their feet into the system of gears that will connect them to the entirety of the Jaeger once they drop. Roy takes a deep breath. There’s no turning back after this. In a matter of minutes, he will be an exposed nerve in the face of Edward Elric’s judgement.

 

“Don’t pass out on me now,” Edward mutters to him, too low for Command to take note of. Roy nods stiffly, steeling himself for the Drift.

 

“Alright boys, remember not to chase the RABIT,” Jean Havoc’s cheerful tenor wafts through the comms. “Initiating neural handshake in three… two… one-”

 

Then Roy is no longer just himself.

 

…

 

Ed’s eyes stay straight ahead, already feeling at home in the heart of Fullmetal. He only wishes Al could get a look at their giant, old, fighting robot. As soon as Havoc finishes the countdown, Mustang is going to know _everything_ about him- his and Al’s last fight in this very Jaeger, Al’s coma, Ed’s rehabilitation, their mother’s death…and _that_ one fateful night.

 

Ed doesn’t know if he can even describe the terror he feels when he thinks about Mustang receiving his _and_ Al’s memories of human transmutation- their greatest failure. He doesn’t know if he can take someone’s _scorn_ about what they did, someone’s pity about how much it cost them. He hates that it’s a completely uncontrolled variable; before, when he would Drift with Al, he knew for certain that Al would never judge him for what happened that night. But now, he has no idea how Roy will react. He doesn’t know whether Roy’s morals will overcome the confidentiality agreement they signed, because Roy’s an _alchemist_. He understands the consequences and the rules of alchemy.

 

For once, he curses the all-consuming nature of the Drift. Once upon a time, it was the best thing, to give his entire self to his brother… but now it’s _terrifying_ to have to allow someone who’s almost a complete stranger into his head.

 

Well, Ed thinks grimly, we won’t be complete strangers for long. He forces his muscles to relax and his mind to open in anticipation for his first neural handshake since Al. He can tell this one’s going to be a bumpy ride.

 

“-one.” he can hear Havoc’s voice like it’s coming from a thousand miles away.

 

Ed feels the familiar-unfamiliar sensation of being sucked into someone else’s consciousness. The first thing he notices is that Roy’s head feels _really_ different to Al’s and his own. Roy’s thoughts go by like lazy koi fish, almost like a relaxant in comparison to Ed and Al’s neural networks going at it like thinking is about to go out of style. Roy’s amusement at this is nearly tangible, though Ed can sense he’s trying as hard as he can to latch on and _comprehend_ everything Ed is thinking.

 

 _Don’t chase the RABIT_ , Ed thinks, forcing the words to stay in the forefront of his mind for a slow two or three seconds so Roy can’t possibly miss them. He feels a prickliness coming from Roy’s end, as if to say, _duh, I’m not_ stupid _, Edward_!

 

 _Better safe than sorry_ , he sends back smugly. He can’t afford to be anything else right now, all he can do is hope that the root of his worst nightmares just slips on by in the stream their shared consciousness.

 

“Neural handshake strong and holding!” Havoc’s victorious voice filters its way through into Ed’s thoughts and he makes an effort to pull himself at least partially out of the headspace he and Roy are occupying. It’s always hardest the first time, when he’s trying as hard as he can to get accustomed to the way his partner thinks. At least Ed has experience Drifting, though he notes it was always far easier with Al.

 

He feels Roy trying to swim against the metaphorical current and pull himself out of the depths of the Drift after Ed, but Ed leaves him to it. It’s better if Roy does it himself the first time, rather than get help from Ed every time.

 

“Affirmative, Command.” Ed says roughly. “Drift successful. Seems like we’ve got this.”

 

Grumman hums into the monitor. “Ranger Elric, it seems as though you had a bit of trouble initiating handshake. You have an initial time at least three times longer than you and Ranger Elric’s.”

 

“First times are always a bitch, Grumman.” Ed bites back. “Me and Al are just prodigies. Give your guy a break.” he smirks in an imitation of Roy. Roy’s distant amusement wafts over to him through their connection, though it’s more distant now that Ed has a foot back in reality and Roy’s still trying to untangle himself from the hold of Ed’s unfamiliar thoughts and his own memories. Ed sends an inkling of encouragement over to Roy, reminding him not to get stuck in the Drift, no matter how much the past pulls at his mind.

 

Some things are better left alone, Ed knows, which is one of the reasons why he doesn’t dwell on the last time he was in Fullmetal and why Roy barely gets the image of the event. For that at least, Ed is grateful. Now, if only he could do the same about bringing Mom back.

 

Then there’s something coming in that nearly makes Ed break the connection.

 

“Great job, Brother!” it’s unmistakably Al’s voice in the comms.

 

“Al!” Ed jerks in his harness. “What the fuck? Did they fuckin’ make you come out here just to see a fuckin’ _neural handshake_? If they did, I’ll gut them,” Al attempts to get a word in, but Ed bulldozes over him in his typical fashion, “because you’ve seen hundreds of neural handshakes in your life, there’s no need for you to see any more!”

 

Al laughs, his amusement doing wonders to calm Ed down inside, even as he bristles on the surface. “I tried to tell you, Brother, Marshal Grumman had Winry and I connected to their network, so we could watch from here. There’s no need to freak out on anyone, you overprotective idiot!”

 

Ed gives his brother a relieved laugh. “Good thing for you then. Hey Win.”

 

“If you’ve broken my automail _again_ , Edward Elric, so help you God...”

 

“Hey, don’t worry about it Win. It’s in tip-top shape-”

 

That’s when things go wrong. One second, Ed has a pretty solid hold on Roy… and the next, he doesn’t. A pit of dread opens up in his stomach. He knows that this means- either Roy chased the RABIT, or he found _that_ memory.

 

“Fuck! Mustang’s gone after the RABIT! Shut everything down!” Ed commands sharply. As the other person in the Drift with Roy, he has a slight head start on everyone else in detecting any changes in the direction of Roy’s thought patterns.

 

“Initiating shutdown!” Havoc says frantically. There are general noises of panic coming from the comms, interspaced by Winry yelling orders at people to pull which plugs when and press buttons where, even though she’s not on-site. Al’s telling everyone to keep calm between his girlfriend’s screeching, and Ed can’t hear Grumman anywhere.

 

But he has his own job to do. He takes himself out of his harness with the ease of someone who’s done it a million times before and unclips Roy from his own before he can do anything stupid, like move the Jaeger and take out everyone in the Shatterdome.

 

“Hey Mustang, you gotta come back to us-” Ed starts to say.

 

But then Roy pulls Ed in with him.

 

…

 

It’s almost like he’s in limbo for a second. Roy floats around aimlessly in the strangely comforting blackness and tries to remember how he got here in the first place.

 

A nudge. He latches onto the thought with all the strength he can muster, but things are just going so slowly in his head and he can barely identify what he’s supposed to be thinking right now but _wait now everything’s going too fast_ and-

 

-he’s standing in the middle of… a study?

 

He rubbernecks for any clues as to where he might be, but he gets his answer when the thumps of footsteps start to approach the closed door. Roy slides into a defensive stance, completely unknowing of what’s about to happen.

 

The door bursts open and Roy’s prepared to fight whoever’s on the other side… but the only people who come in are two little boys. Somehow, the shades of their hair are incredibly familiar, but they’re both talking excitedly over each other and Roy can’t get a good view of their faces.

 

“Hey!” he says loudly, hoping to catch their attention and ask how the _fuck_ he ended up here.

 

They ignore him.

 

“Hey!” he yells louder, waving his hands in front of their faces and realises. _They can’t see him_.


End file.
